On nights like this, I know my father is right, but there isn’t a need to really devote anytime into telling him what’s on my mind. I know that in the future it will be used as some kind of attack, something that once again, acts as a bolster or a buttress to my shortcomings. Sometimes, I wish that I had somebody to ask me what’s wrong who wouldn’t judge or anything like that but I know that doesn’t really exist, I know that all people can do to a stranger is judge them, so instead, I spend my time ignoring them, deciding to tell people when they ask, that nothing’s wrong. I never look them in the eye while I’m doing this. To tell the truth, I don’t really look anyone in the eye unless their asking something that I can give a definite response to without having to lie. My parents say that they can always tell when I’m lying but I know they can’t. Sometimes I don’t look at them when I answer truthfully too just so that they never know exactly what’s coming. I stay on my toes, light as a feather for the day that it all comes crashing down, for the day that all my secrets are poured to the world.
On nights like this, I notice the shadows that move on the walls of my bedroom.
On nights like this, my brother sleeps adjacent to me, I hear his heavy breathing and I grow enraged at his ability to sleep. I think that I am naturally jealous of those who can do what I cannot. I am jealous of those who are still there at the college I dropped out of, I am jealous of my friends who are in better colleges than I am. I am jealous and I am jealous and I feel the jealousy spilling into ugliness. On nights like this, I feel that there are times that my jealousy prevents me from a lot of things. I promise myself to make myself less jealous, more human than a beast. Instead, I am jealous again, jealous of maybe a more perfect me that does not even exist. I don’t know what is wrong with me.
On nights like this, there are people standing outside of my house. People walking around doing different things, without a care in the world, like they don’t even know that there is a sort of dulling to everyone’s life. I used to live next to a Girls Group Home; I used to hear loud raucous laughter and cursing and generally colorful lifestyles. My life, in comparison, was grey at best.
On nights like this I am a by-product, I need to talk to a therapist but I would never do that because I don’t trust those fuckers and their probing techniques to get into my head and diagnose me and give me drugs so that I’m like you. When I want to only be me. So fuck him, fuck him with the cool words and the gentle tone that asks me if I had a hard childhood. What the fuck do you think? What the fuck is going on. I want to scream and run away and I want to escape to those dark padded rooms you always see the extremely unstable in without the striate jacket around me because I could never actually hurt myself to death. But I could stay in that white room and lay down and mutter to myself all the curses that I’m not strong enough to say to their faces, to your face, to all of them because they think they’re so fucking better than me, that they’re all different from me. Why are they all so different, why don’t they talk to me, why don’t they give me the opportunity to explain myself before they dive into this attack that is characterized by these quiet whispers, these sideway looks that are cast as I walk by. The ones that make you conscious of the clothes you wear and the music you listen to. I want to destroy, I want to hurt those assholes, the ones that exist in a world that is different than mine, and have made it clear that their world is better than mine, and that I’m not fucking allowed in theirs. I hate having to sign the code of conduct before every new year, the promise that I won’t hurt another student, that I won’t come in one day and I won’t erase everything before me. I remember all, I know who has wronged me, and I must content myself with the idea that not having to talk to them makes me a better person. But deep down, in the darkness, there is a creature that constricts itself around my heart and lets me know that they have won. It won’t leave me alone. I don’t think you know what I’m talking about. It whispers. And it does this whispering so low that I have to really concentrate to hear it. And it tells me that I have been WRONGED. And the word alone lets me know how right the creature is. It lets me grow charged up until I see the red and I tear at the covers. I tear at the bed. I tear at my skin and claw at everything because I have been reduced to this feral creature. I am this reincarnation of evil. I laugh evilly at all of the people who have pretended to know me, the girl with the beautiful smile, the jock of the school, my friends or the ones I have labeled thusly, and the ones that may have had a tiny crush on me, and have told me that I am a nice person. Like you’d fucking know? How can you not realize that I’m the person that could do such evil, how lucky you are that the creature has not come out fully, that I have sustained my humanity for a while longer and that you have yet to see the creature that is deep in me? I know that there is going to be a day that I fucking snap and the people around me will suffer and that there will be blood. Do you understand me? I can fucking hurt people, I can’t help it, I can’t stop it sometimes. It is the night’s fault.
